Chapter 16

The Waystation was only about a third full as Mac drifted alongside the counter to where the bar curved inward at the far end. She'd done her share of surveillance seated at the end of this bar and she looked back down its scarred surface to a lone man sitting in the middle, drinking a beer and playing on his phone. Glancing around, she saw most of the patrons were on their phones. It helped avoid eye contact, but at a bar, weren't you supposed to want to meet people?

She ordered a club soda. She might not have a concussion but there was no reason to push the envelope by ordering anything stronger.

Once she had her drink she settled in to wait for Mason and Sam. Little aches and pains had crept up on her throughout the day and she was worried a serious headache could be crouched and waiting to attack. So far so good, but she didn't want to mess with success while she waited for Mason, who struck her as the kind of guy who wouldn't reschedule, maybe out of annoyance, maybe out of loss of interest.

Ten minutes later, the two men walked into the bar, Mason lean and dark, Sam light-brown-haired and less angular than Mason. Sam's resemblance to Ethan hit her again and she remembered the last time she'd seen Ethan outside Gavin's party, warbling, " I'm just a girl who can't say no . . . " The song Mac had sung as Ado Annie in Oklahoma!

Her throat tightened at the memory. Ethan was dead mere hours later. And now Gavin.

She rose from her seat to meet them. "Mackenzie, this is Sam Stanhope. Sam, Mackenzie Laughlin," Mason introduced.

"We've met," they both said at the same moment.

"Really?" Mason looked from one to the other. "When?"

"Recently," Mac said.

Mason's dark eyes focused on her bandaged forehead. "What happened to you?"

"Car accident. A lot of that going around."

Sam Stanhope couldn't seem to look her in the eye as Mason said, "You should be more careful."

"Yeah . . ." Mac couldn't help snorting.

Mason asked, "Should we get a table or booth?"

"Table," Sam said promptly. Mac understood. A booth would mean one of them would have to sit beside another, something none of them wanted.

Mason selected a table near the arch that led into the poolroom. Mac sat down with him on her right and Sam across from her. The table backed up to the wall on her left side.

"Okay, I have a confession to make," Mason started right in even before he'd even seated himself. "I texted Mia your number."

"You what ? You texted her? You said you couldn't contact her!"

"I know. It's a dick move. I didn't know if her number was still good, so I decided to try it and she answered. I told her to leave that fucker for good and come home and I think she is."

"You told her to leave Ben?"

"I sure did." He looked at Sam, who was staring past them toward the bar. Mac couldn't tell if he was tracking the conversation or just waiting to say his piece, which she already guessed would be about the laptop.

The waitress came by, holding a large circular tray at her side. "Want anything?"

Mason ordered a beer and Sam hesitated before asking for a Moscow mule while Mac told her, "No, thanks."

In the momentary silence that followed, Mac addressed Sam, "What do you want?"

He startled. "What do you mean?"

"You want the laptop," she said.

Mason broke in, "What laptop? What are you talking about?"

"My mother gave her Ethan's laptop yesterday," Sam said tensely.

Mason looked blank. "Okay. Why?"

"I'm looking into Ethan's accident," admitted Mac. "Coral thought it might help."

" Coral thought it might help you?" asked Mason.

Sam said, "My mother's pissed at me for that screenplay I told you about." To Mac, he said intently, "But she's changed her mind and wants the laptop back."

That sounded like a big, fat lie. "I'll call her and tell her I'll bring it back to her tomorrow. What's her number?"

"I . . . don't know. It just comes up on my phone," Sam stumbled, caught in his machinations.

She gestured to his cell. "Look it up."

"I'm not going to call her. You just need to stay out of our business. My mother said the same thing after you left."

"Whoa, whoa," said Mason.

"She can tell me herself." Mac eyed Sam. It was unlikely Mason knew Ethan and Ingrid had died of a drug overdose as no one apparently did except the Stanhopes. She wondered if Sam had factored that piece in when he decided to confront her in front of him.

Mason asked, "What the hell's really going on here?"

Mac waited for Sam to answer, but when he didn't, she said, "I still want Mia's number."

Sam muttered under his breath, "You threatened my mother."

" What? No, I didn't. You saw that she just brought me the laptop. I didn't ask for it."

"Well, give it back. It's not your property."

"What's on the laptop, man?" asked Mason.

Mac could have kissed him for saying what she was thinking herself.

Sam's face reddened. "Mom promised it to me for my work. She should have never given it to you."

"You want a laptop for your work that's how old ? You don't have anything newer?" asked Mac.

Sam flushed and didn't answer. Mason looked from Sam to Mac and back again, clearly not sure which way to jump.

"You think he was killed," Sam growled. "You listened to those bitches."

It was Gavin who thought The Sorority was responsible. With a heavy heart, she said, "I was at the hospital today and saw Brighty and Leland."

"Gavin's dead," said Sam. "I heard."

"Bro," Mason protested, clearly not in the know.

"What's on the laptop?" repeated Mac.

"It was an accident!" he practically shouted.

For a moment Mac thought he was going to jump at her across the table and even Mason said, "Shit, man. You talking about Gavin? What's going on?"

"I think he's talking about his brother," Mac said carefully.

The waitress appeared with her tray in hand and placed their drinks in front of them, head down as if she didn't want to get involved. Mac didn't blame her. She didn't want to get involved.

After the waitress backed away, Sam tossed back half of his drink, slamming the copper mug back down on the table. Then he closed his eyes and his mouth turned down. "Yeah, I'm talking about Ethan," he said, pained.

"It's not your fault," said Mason.

Sam silently laughed and shook his head.

Silence followed.

Mason seemed to shake himself back to the present and muttered, "Gavin died in a car accident, just like Ethan."

"Not exactly like Ethan," Mac said, trying to meet Sam's eyes, but his gaze was on the scarred tabletop.

"What?" Mason asked. "What aren't you guys telling me?"

Sam glanced up and glared at Mac. "They didn't die from the accident," he admitted in a low voice.

"Who? They . . . Ethan and Ingrid? What did they die of? What do you mean?" Mason looked from Sam to Mac and back again.

"Ethan, he . . . I don't know." Sam's tough demeanor was crumbling.

"Tell me," Mason pressed.

"It was the fentanyl that killed 'em," Sam got out in a rush, his voice so low it could hardly be heard.

Mason jerked back as if burned. " No. "

Mac had heard Sam's telltale "the" before fentanyl. "You both knew about it," she realized.

Mason's face paled. "No, no . . . no. It wasn't from that. It couldn't be from that. No, it wasn't from that!"

"You knew about the fentanyl," Mac accused. "Did you supply it?"

"NO!"

"Who'd he get it from?" Mac asked. "How did Ingrid get it?"

Sam suddenly stood so fast he knocked the table. His copper cup fell over, spilling ice and cold liquid into Mac's lap and Mason's beer directly into his own lap. Mason didn't even seem to notice as Sam staggered out of the bar. A blast of cold air whisked through the room before the door slammed shut behind him.

Mac shivered and righted the overturned cup. The waitress showed up to the table with a dry bar towel, handing it to Mac. Mason had swooped up his beer bottle too late and now set it back onto the table as Mac in turn handed him the towel. He swiped down the table, then held the wet rag in his hands. He had a sickly smile on his face, the kind that meant he'd just heard something he didn't know how to process.

Mac found herself angry, so angry, even now, over ten years later. "Sam had something to do with the fentanyl. You did, too. Were you dealing?"

"No, no." He snapped back as if she'd slapped him. "It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?"

He looked at her set face. "It was a stupid idea. A stupid buy. Sam got it from a friend of a friend of a friend . . . one of those things you suddenly wake up and think, ‘Oh, shit, this is dangerous stuff,' and he put the pills away somewhere. Ethan must've found them, or maybe . . . Ingrid . . . I always kinda wondered, but I didn't think so. It couldn't be! It was a bad accident, which was bad enough. Mia was heartbroken and I felt terrible. It was . . . bad," he said again.

"It was bad," Mac agreed.

"Ethan coulda got some of his own. Didn't have to be that stuff."

"And Ingrid? Does that really ring true?"

"How . . . how did you know? Did Coral know?"

"I got it from the tox report that the Stanhopes purposely buried."

"Oh . . . shit." He covered his mouth with his hand.

"Gavin wanted to prove that Ethan's accident wasn't an accident. He knew at some level."

"Is this why Gavin's dead? This? "

"I don't know," admitted Mac.

"Only Sam and I knew about the fentanyl . . . and Ethan. He wanted some for after graduation but we said no. Shit's dangerous as fuck. Sam threw the pills away."

"Did he?"

"Yes!" he said. "Oh, yeah. He was scared when Ethan said he wanted some. He told me he threw the shit in the East Glen. He wouldn't lie to me."

"Even if he felt responsible?" she tried.

"His family would never forgive him. Never. They would never even let him in the house. They're mad enough at him for the screenplay, which is fiction. Not even close to the truth. If they even thought Sam was involved . . ." He made a sound between a laugh and a sob.

"They wouldn't hide how Ethan and Ingrid died to save Sam from public scrutiny, possible prosecution?"

"Absolutely not." He was positive. "If they hid it, it was to keep from their name being smeared, Ethan's name. They wouldn't save Sam."

"Doesn't it make sense that it was Sam's and your fentanyl that they took?"

"No. No. It wasn't our fentanyl! It was stupid. It was just stupid!" He violently shook his head. "Look, I'm the fuckup in my family. I know what that's like, but not like that ! God. My parents think Mia let them down because her grades slipped. They don't even know what bad things happen to people. If Art Stanhope thought Sam was involved, he'd kill him himself."

"Sam's his only surviving child."

"His least favorite," Mason said with an unhappy curl of his lips. "Ingrid was his favorite. If he thought for one second that Sam had anything to do with her death . . ."

Mac digested that. Maybe it was just as he said and the reason Art and Coral Stanhope had hidden the real cause of Ethan's and Ingrid's deaths was to save the family from public judgment. "Gavin has always blamed The Sorority," she said. "If he'd known the truth he might have—"

"Oh, he knew. He knew about the fentanyl. He knew that Sam got it and that Ethan kind of wanted it. Ethan told him. Ethan was pissed at both Sam and me. He wanted to strut around with it."

"With fentanyl ?" Mac asked, disbelieving.

He shifted his jaw back and forth. "Ask Mia. I lied. She knew, too. Here . . ." With that he pulled out his phone and sent her a text. Mac checked her phone. He'd texted a phone number. "That's Mia. She's probably expecting your call anyway."

Mason reached into his pocket, collected some money, and threw it on the table. He got up from his chair, then put his hands on the back of it and stayed there a moment, as if gathering strength.

"You know this is all . . . old information, but be careful," he said, sounding worried. "Sam threw the stuff in the river. No, I didn't see him do it, but I believe him, and Ethan was pissed off about it. Whatever happened, however Ethan got the stuff, he would have never, never, never allowed Ingrid to be part of it. It had to be a mistake. Something really wrong. I gotta think about it. If I come up with something, I'll let you know."

She watched him open the door, allowing another eager breath of wind swirling into the bar, causing a couple nearby patrons to shiver. She looked down at the wet crotch of her pants from Sam's drink and felt her niggling headache begin to take center stage.

She called Mia's number and let it ring and ring and ring. No answer and no voice mail.

* * *

Kristl checked the time on her phone again. She felt anxious and angry inside and she wanted to have sex with somebody so bad it felt like she would climb the first man who even gave her a look. She really wanted Jesse Taft, but he'd texted that he was busy, but maybe they could meet later in the week. That was not good enough. She'd left Mom in bed after making sure she was asleep, courtesy of a couple of pills, and was looking forward to a full night out. She glanced over at Jerry, who never paid her any attention. She could tell he found her kind of skeevy, but what did he know, the asshole? Rob wasn't on tonight, which was fine, because he got all filled with testosterone and jealousy. Sometimes she liked that. Most times it was just an annoyance.

She'd texted Natalie back. Such a demanding bitch. But she'd agreed to have everyone meet at her house tomorrow night. What the hell was Natalie all worked up about now?

Guilt tweaked her brain, but she pushed it away. It wasn't her fault. Sometimes things just happened.

The door opened and a young couple came in. Kristl sized up the guy but he was too into his date and was a little on the short side. Almost immediately the door opened again and Karl strode in. Karl was tall with dark, thick hair and he was sporting a new mustache that she thought might tickle in all the right places. She didn't want him. She never wanted him. But she seemed to fall back on him more than she really should. He had a streak of meanness that both drew and repelled her at the same time. He'd been dead awful to her when she and Tim were getting together. A jealous goon. She'd only had sex with him the other night just to make herself feel better, but the feeling hadn't lasted and, hell, she wanted Jesse Taft to show up. She was just dying to get in bed with him, but he wasn't here. Her bad luck was holding.

"Hey," Karl said.

"Hey," she said back, looking him over. Was she really going to do this? His place was such a sty. And what if Taft showed up after all?

"Wanna join me in a booth?" he asked, inclining his head toward one of her favorites near the back.

She thought about the roving hand game they could play beneath the table and pushed her disappointment about not meeting Jesse Taft out of her mind. After all, it wasn't like Tim. Losing him . . . especially the way she had. "Yeah, let's go," she said, leading the way to the booth.

* * *

Mac looked at herself in her bathroom mirror and groaned. She'd thought the bandage she'd put over the knot above her right eye had taken care of things, but the bruising had expanded, sliding down her temple and around the orbital bone. She was definitely beginning to look like she'd been in a prizefight. No wonder Mason had asked her what happened.

She thought about trying Mia again, but she'd already phoned twice to no avail. Mason said he'd told her she wanted to get in touch with her, so she was forcing herself to wait. It could be that Mia was deliberately trying to stay under the radar. The general consensus was that her guy, Ben, was involved in the family marijuana business at some level, so maybe he didn't want his personal association advertised? Or maybe Mia just was taking her time.

Twice, Mac had almost called Leigh to alert her that she had Mia's number, but twice she'd changed her mind. Call it selfish, but after Mason had said, "Ask Mia. I lied. She knew, too . . . ," Mac wanted to talk to Mia herself.

She popped two aspirin and sat down in her chair, leaning back and staring at the ceiling, gently rotating her injured ankle. Her mind immediately went to who'd purposely run her off the road today, which begged the question: Who owned a blue Honda Accord? Whom had she run afoul of? One of The Sorority? Someone else? It wasn't the same vehicle that had pushed Gavin off the road as that one had been white.

Maybe her own car "accident" was something else entirely?

Her thoughts jumped to Ethan Stanhope. Had Sam Stanhope, with Mason Beckwith's help, unwittingly killed his own brother and sister?

"And why did Gavin keep blaming The Sorority?" she asked herself aloud. Why did he blame Kristl, specifically?

Thinking about Kristl, Mac texted Taft: How's it going?

It took a while, but he came back with: Thought you were going to bed early.

She smiled faintly. He'd known she was still planning to meet Mason and Sam. She answered: Not tired. You at Lacey's?

Her phone rang in her hand. Seeing it was Taft, she clicked on. There was no background music or noise, so she said, "You're not at Lacey's."

"Something else came up. Did you meet with Beckwith and Stanhope?"

"I did," she admitted. "Actually learned a few things."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. A little beat up. How come you didn't ask me what I learned?"

"What did you learn?"

She could tell he was faintly distracted. "What are you doing?"

"Putting two and two together. Tell me what you learned."

So much for conversation. Sounded like he was in full-on investigative mode. She brought him up to date on what Sam and Mason had said and though Mason had denied it, her own suspicions that Ethan and his sister were the victims of the fentanyl Sam and Mason had purchased.

"They didn't mention the source?" he questioned when she finished.

"No. It was over ten years ago, and I don't think they'd tell me." As he thought that over, she asked, "What ‘two and two' are you putting together?"

For a moment she thought he was going to fob her off, but then he said, "I got a call this evening from Dale Kingman's sister. She told me a little more about him than his mother did. I've been at the church where Kingman was caught and killed. Talked to the minister . . ."

"And . . . ?" she nudged.

"It's a long story. You up for some company?" he asked abruptly.

She immediately thought about what she looked like. She needed to spiff up a bit. "I'm not doing anything else."

"How well do you know your friend Kristl?"

"Kristl . . . not well. She's an acquaintance more than a friend. I haven't seen her since high school."

"Want me to pick up anything on the way? I might still go to Lacey's after."

"No, I've eaten, unless you want to get something for yourself."

"I'll wait till Lacey's. See you soon."

She'd changed into her pajamas but now went back to dress in clean jeans and a cozy sweatshirt, then walked back barefoot into the kitchen. She gazed out the window into her parking lot, half expecting to see a blue Accord with a mangled fender cruise through, but there was no movement. The lot was dark except for outdoor lights attached to the building that illuminated the lightly sprinkling rain and glistening blacktop. Apart from bursts of wind blowing leaves and fir needles over the parked cars, it was quiet.

Taft arrived about half an hour later. He had his phone in his hand and clicked it off as he bounded up her stairs. She opened the door and could smell the rain and scent of fir on him.

She stepped back to allow him entry as he said, "Your ‘acquaintance' was involved with Dale Kingman."

"What do you mean? How involved? Oh! She's the woman he moved for?"

He nodded as they both headed into the living room. Mac eased down into her chair and Taft sat on the edge of her love seat. "According to his sister, Kingman had mental health issues. Burglarizing homes was a teen thrill that carried into his adult life. He would stop for a while, then start up again. Never used a weapon until he purchased the gun that killed Tim Knowles. Apparently Kingman had been passing through the area and started attending service at Welcoming Arms Church. This is part of his m.o. He would commit crimes and then pay penance in church. He crossed paths with Kristl, who occasionally attended service there. Pastor Simons was careful what he said, but it sounds like Kingman fell hard for her. It was obvious. Kingman's sister called Kristl the ‘redheaded demon who killed him,' but that's a stretch."

"She knew him, though. You said she was involved with him."

"Welcoming Arms allows tents for the homeless on the far side of the parking lot and Kingman pitched his tent as soon as he met Kristl. He wouldn't come home, according to his sister. In his account to the department, Pastor Simons didn't mention Kristl. He didn't realize Kristl knew Tim Knowles as well. He thought she was just Sally Colville's friend, but then Ham was saying some things and the pastor's been stewing about it. He was almost relieved when I brought it up to him. I think he'll still go to the police now, but it's kind of a moot point. It looks like Kingman insinuated himself into Kristl's life. He knew her friends. Stalked her a bit, maybe. Somehow he figured out about the Colvilles' back window. Maybe just tested all the windows? He sometimes hallucinated. Rarely, but . . . maybe he just saw Tim as a threat. Kristl's pretty up front about how much she cared about Tim. Maybe Kingman was jealous of him. He had the gun and Tim was the guy who came to the house and he knew him and . . . BAM. "

Mackenzie jumped, enwrapped in the story. "A lot of maybes."

"A lot of maybes," he agreed.

They both thought about that a moment, then Mac asked, "Do you think Kristl knows?"

Taft got to his feet. "I think I might go ask her."

"I'm coming with you." Mac struggled upward.

"That's not—"

"I'm coming with you," she repeated firmly. "I want to see her, anyway. Gavin blamed her for Ethan's death, and I want to know why."

"He blamed all of your friends—acquaintances—in that group."

"Then let's start with Kristl. Let me get some shoes . . ."

She came back in a pair of sneakers that she could leave untied, tucking the laces in on the side of the shoe on her bandaged foot. "I can wear these."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Damn it, Taft."

He held up his hands and they headed down the outdoor stairs to his Rubicon.

As they drove to Lacey's, Mac asked, "Why did Kingman yell ‘Sanctuary'?" she asked.

"Relief from the demons that plagued him? Chief among them Kristl, according to the sister."

They headed inside the bar and the noise level hit her, reminding her of the minor headache she'd been actively ignoring. Mac's gaze immediately fell on Kristl, who was snuggled in a booth with a guy sporting a thick, dark mustache. She was sitting so close up against him that two more people could have occupied the seat of the booth beside her. And there was something going on between them under the table that had Kristl's head thrown back and her eyes closed. She was much slimmer than in high school and her hair was a darker red, but Mac had recognized her immediately.

"Fuckin' get a room!" a good-natured yell sounded from a group of guys crowded on some bar stools. They were seated sideways, clearly enjoying the show.

Kristl opened her eyes and slid the crowd a sly smile. The man with her had a different reaction, scowling at the group.

Then he clapped eyes on Taft and he practically pushed Kristl away from him, his face contorting with fury. He climbed over Kristl to get out of the booth and she shrieked in protest. He stalked forward and said in a menacing voice, "Jesse James Taft."

Taft tensed beside her but said affably enough, "Hi, Karl."

"Who's this you been beatin' up on?" he demanded, jerking his head toward Mac. A frightened gasp sounded from Kristl, who stared openly at Mac and Taft.

"Hi, Kristl," said Mac, which got Karl to give her a long look and swing his head back to Kristl, who was sliding from the booth and adjusting her short skirt and blouse.

"Mackenzie . . . Mac . . . what are you doing here?" Kristl's eyes were all over Taft, definitely in lust, but also in confusion.

"We want to know why you didn't tell the police you knew Dale Kingman," Mac jumped right in. Maybe she should have waited for Taft but he was clearly in some kind war with Karl.

The noise dissipated as the guys around Kristl went silent.

Kristl bit down nervously on her lower lip, then asked, "Who's Dale Kingman?"

"The man who killed Tim Knowles," said Taft, still staring down Karl.

"You all know the name," Mackenzie guessed, looking around at the other men at the bar who were desperately trying to look anywhere but at Mac and Taft.

"Fuckin' Taft. What're you doin'?" Karl demanded.

Kristl looked at Taft in a kind of despair. "You set me up?" she asked, her eyes pained.

Taft spared her a glance. "I want to know the truth about Tim."

"You're hateful," she said, the tears brimming in her eyes.

A rage-filled growl erupted from Karl and he barreled straight into Taft.